


Never Slapped Five with God: 44 Lines About 22 Deaths

by angelgazing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-10
Updated: 2010-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:03:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelgazing/pseuds/angelgazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The brief lives and many deaths of Castiel, Angel of the Lord.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Slapped Five with God: 44 Lines About 22 Deaths

**Author's Note:**

> This is all [](http://musesfool.livejournal.com/profile)[**musesfool**](http://musesfool.livejournal.com/)'s fault, alright, I was sitting around innocently, minding my own business, and then she made me write this. She also gave me the summary, and the structure, and betaed. Also based on the alt tag of [this](http://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=34) [A Softer World](http://www.asofterworld.com) comic.

**1.**

Castiel steps between them and the archangel, and starts to glow, bright, brighter, brightest, from the inside out, like one of those new eco-friendly light bulbs as it warms up. Between one blink and the next, he's gone.

**2.**

Dean's got one hand on Sam's chest, to keep him from pushing forward, and the other wrapped firmly around the butt of his gun, they're both crouched low, waiting.

"Shit," Dean says, when Castiel shows up, suddenly, in the middle of the darkened room, and sets off the trap.

**3.**

"Dean, you have to be careful, there's something coming," Castiel says cryptically—pretty much the exact opposite of helpfully—stepping off the curb backwards.

"Watch out," Dean says, because he actually looks both ways before crossing the street these days, but he reaches forward too late.

**4.**

There's a… thing, a thing Dean can't remember the name of, but a thing with sharp claws, and sharp teeth, and glow-in-dark eyes, that is very, very fast. He's got a hitch his side like he's never had before, and he's stuck somewhere between wondering if maybe he should lay off the milkshakes and figuring out a better escape plan, when he realizes that Castiel has fallen behind.

**5.**

"Jesus, are you being punished for something?" Dean asks, his hand over the gunshot wound on Castiel's side, with blood seeping through his fingers in a way that would've made his stomach turn—well, never; even before hell he'd never exactly been squeamish. Castiel opens his mouth, then shuts it again, without making a sound, and Dean huffs, over the sound of approaching footsteps, "Or am I being punished, because you are the worst guardian angel ever."

**6.**

Sam pulls him back, with his stupid, suspected super human, half-giant bullshit strength, and Dean glares when they fall on their asses, even with the sound of fucking flaming arrows hitting the wall right behind where he'd been standing.

Castiel screams, and Sam and Dean roll their eyes.

**7.**

"They killed Castiel," Sam tells him, shrugging off his torn and bloody jacket; he's got a bruise blooming on his cheek that's actually kind of impressive, but his knuckles are the only other thing showing any damage, so the blood isn't his.

"Those bastards," Dean snorts, and puts down another hash mark on the back of the joker from the deck of cards; the rest are still shiny and mostly new.

**8.**

There's a ghost that's not a ghost but is a cover for a real ghost in Baxter Springs, Kansas, and Dean just keeps right on being surprised that he can still be surprised by all the capacity for crazy that people have.

The fake ghost pulls a real weapon, tries to shoot Sam, and misses by a mile—or, well, three and a half feet—and Castiel drops like a lead balloon.

**9.**

The very second he walks through the hotel room door, his arms loaded with bags of beer and greasy, salty, delicious carry-out burgers and fries from the old-style drive in they may have, once or twice, or eleven times chosen to investigate cases because of their proximity to it, Dean trips over the small boats Sam wears on his feet and calls shoes.

"Sam," he yells, and _knows_ Sam can hear him over the shower, so his radio silence is bullshit, but he doesn't even get a chance to put the bags down and barge in, and maybe throw Sam's stupid shoes in there with him, before Castiel follows, and trips, and doesn't manage to hold his balance at all, and Dean mostly doesn't even flinch at the thud of his head hitting the corner of the dresser.

**10.**

"Worst guardian angel ever," Dean says, darkly, with Castiel lying, bleeding at his feet.

"Ever," Sam agrees, his shoulder pressed against Dean's, watching as eight demon possessed children approach all creepy and sinister like.

**11.**

"I'll be back," Castiel says, thickly, blood at the corner of his mouth, under his fingernails, coming from the corner of his eyes like the tears on the cursed Virgin Mary statue, like the last three victims of whatever it was this time.

"I know," Dean answers, tiredly, and resists the urge to rub at his temples, because no one wants to wake up and realize they've turned into their father when they weren't looking, and he's still got to figure out how to get uncaved in, because not everyone dies and gets to wake people up at five in the morning to tell them they're fine, now, don't worry.

**12.**

"I'm pretty sure it's the trickster again," Sam says, shrugging, because a prank's never as good the second time; well—mostly never—also there are vampire cows, so if anything's going to get a reaction it won't be Castiel getting… gently gnawed to death by one, instead of the fact that there are fucking _vampire cows_.

"I hate that guy," Dean tells Sam, and Castiel, if he's still alive, and the fucking vampire cows, and the night sky, and anyone else who will listen.

**13.**

It's raining so hard it's practically going sideways, big black clouds blocking out the sun that'd been shining bright twenty minutes before, when the temperature was fifteen degrees higher; thunder rolls, rattles the windows in the way it only can in the heartland in springtime.

They rush to the car, against every kind of training they learned in elementary school, Dean with his duffle slung over his shoulder and his collar popped against the wind; Sam with the hood of his sweatshirt up, carrying two cups of cold coffee and the weapons bag; Castiel with an umbrella, steps out just as lightning flashes across the sky, then down.

**14.**

"I've still never met Him," Castiel says, softly, shrugging, looking out the window of Sam's hospital room, up at the cloudless sky; outside the sun is shining and birds are singing, and Dean is ready to rip apart anyone and everyone he needs to with his bare hands, because Sam hasn't woken up in two and a half days, and Dean's never been his best without his baby brother around.

"I don't think I can really die, because I'm not really alive," he says, when he turns back to Dean, after a while of listening to the minute hand click like the cocking of the hammer of a gun; there are two Dixie cups on the window sill, the best that Dean and Bobby can figure would either save Sam or kill him, and Castiel downs the first one like a shot, then slumps back against the wall and falls in a slow slide.

**15.**

Sam starts gagging about ten seconds after the bodies start popping up, one hand, then another, then another, all across the graveyard—Dean doesn't know if it's the smell, or the sight, the ones nearly halfway to nothing but bone, or the ones freshly buried, cheeks still overly pink from funeral home makeup; but there is no way in hell he is ever going to let Sam live it down—they hop down off the stone wall at the same time and Dean says, "Let's go kill some zombies," and probably fails at not sounding excited, if Sam's glare is anything to go by.

Dean rolls his shoulder with a crack, and they move forward at the same time, axes in hand, and they work like a machine, always have at times like this, when the monsters they're fighting move like machines, and every step is exactly like pushing through a drill with Dad used to be; Sam takes the head off the zombie chewing at Castiel's throat, Dean lands his ax in the forehead of the one who lunges for Sam, and they don't pause for a breath until they're done.

**16.**

"It was all working fine until the tractor went rogue," the girl explains, twisting her fingers in her lap, looking down at her brown flowered skirt like it's the only friend she has left in the world; she's barely sixteen, her father just died, her mother hasn't gotten out of bed in nearly a week, and she's got a baby sister who still needs to be taken care of, and too many heavy books to lose herself in.

They stalk through the corn fields has quietly as possible, because apparently this is some weird only works up close magic, probably created to make the lives of people like them just that much harder; they're also so busy trying to pretend they've got a better plan than shooting the tires and running like hell, until the tractor does some mechanical version of surrendering, or dies, they don't even notice it's behind them until Castiel goes down.

**17.**

Some witch, or demon, or random monster, or crazy weather god, made it snow inside their hotel, in a very blatant, very personal attack on Dean, who'd been looking forward to hitting the pool, because there was this redhead out there who was barely _in_ her bikini and—Castiel falls backwards down the steps they're stomping up. Sam and Dean grip the handrail a little tighter.

**18.**

"—I'll kill your little hunting buddy," Crazy Dude Number Three says, crazily, a knife to a passive Castiel's throat, fingers twitching around the handle, and Dean rolls his eyes as hard as he can without them getting stuck that way forever, before punching Big Crazy Dude in the face.

Sam rolls his eyes, too, and says, "Well, everyone else has had a turn," as Castiel scowls at them both, blood welling under the blade.

**19.**

"I think I'll take the elevator," Castiel says, bruised, but not Dead By Ancient Evil Kitty Cat Figurine, eyeing the wet stairs like he suspects they might kick him in the shins any second now.

Dean opens his hotel room door at five in the morning, squinting against all the Too Early For This Bullshit, to watch Castiel, unbruised and the picture of health, kick angrily at the loose stones of the walkway.

**20.**

The boat is small, and rolls with the waves, and Dean's not sure his stomach is ever going to stop trying to go the opposite way of the water, and Sam's reading a book, like he doesn't even notice the movement, because apparently he's more demon than Dean ever could have expected or dared to fear, and just as much of an asshole as Dean always knew for sure, and shockingly, horrifyingly, uninterested in mermaid hunting.

Dean's got a harpoon in one hand, and has taken so much Dramamine there are elephants who would've falling asleep face first by now, and there is an actual mermaid in these waters, eating souls of children who swim too close; Sam's got a book he stole from Bobby, and Castiel is leaning over the back of the boat to get a better look when they bounce on a wave and he goes overboard; he doesn't come back up, but the mermaid goes to the smell of blood.

**21.**

There is a mummy; an actual, honest to God, black and white movie, raised zombie arms and shuffling, dirty bandaged mummy.

"This is so fucking cool," Dean says, gleefully, just as hundreds of tiny green frogs hop into the room, tripping Castiel, while he tries not to step on them, and then… Dean has to spend a lot of time paying attention to the mummy, instead of whatever is going on with those freaky fucking frogs.

**22.**

"In the pool hall, with a pocket watch?" Dean repeats, squinting at Sam to see if he's telling the truth. Dean huffs, says, "We're gonna need a new deck of cards."


End file.
